The Mountain

Easing Up Later in Life Might be Necessary, But It's Not Easy

As I turn the page on my competitive running career, I've come to the realization that it's the mountain I'll miss most.

I was a swimmer growing up. It was between the lanelines where I learned the value of hard work and commitment. My dream was to compete in the Olympics. The chase took me far, but not as far as I'd hoped.

When I was a swimmer, I could never understand the allure of the runner thing. Those I'd watch struggle past, with sweaty grimaces and teetering gaits, rarely seemed to be enjoying themselves. But in an effort to get back in shape in my mid-30s, I finally got it.

It all seemed to blossom at once, the passion. One day I was overjoyed at being able to run 20 minutes straight on a treadmill. The next I was competing in 5Ks, 10Ks, half marathons and marathons. From the outset, I ran with a scaled-down version of the discipline I'd embraced in the pool. Each year brought loftier goals, and each improved level of fitness became not a ceiling, but rather a new floor on which to build.

And somewhere along the way I discovered my mountain.

As peaks go, this one is pretty unremarkable. It's not one of those landmarks whose ascent warrants flag planting. The trail that wends toward the summit is steep, but not in an Everest kind of way. And the setting, while picturesque for a metropolitan area, pales in comparison to the thousands of crests that dot such illustrious ranges as the Sierra Nevada.

But, oh, how I relished matching wits with this mountain.

I've heard it described as a "fire in the belly," this propensity to compete. For me it's never been so much about beating others as it has been about exploring my limits. Don't get me wrong. I've always enjoyed testing myself against others. But the bulk of the runner's life is spent not in crowded fields, racing, but in relative solitude trying patiently to unearth his or her best abilities. And nowhere was this drama played out more clearly than on my early morning weekend run.

At roughly an hour up, relentlessly up, and then another hour down, the rugged loop honed my fitness like the blade on a rapier. When you're fresh and hungry and driven, the switchbacks may seem endless, but your will to overcome them is as plentiful as your boundless energy.

We all have them, our truth runs. For some it might be a difficult out-and-back along a forest path. For others, a particularly grueling set of intervals at the local track. They're those training runs that make us accountable to our love of competition -- the ones in which we see just how far we can bend before we break.

To the uninitiated, such self-imposed punishment must surely be perplexing. After all, the path of the masters athlete is unlikely to ever lead to riches or widespread glory. But to those in the know, we understand that surviving these workouts gives us the confidence to overcome just about any running obstacle thrown our way.

Sooner or later, though, we must all retreat from the mountain. Even the greatest of athletes have to come to grips with the reality that, while the mind is still keen to push as hard as ever, the body and spirit are reluctant to respond.

This summer, while peaking for a quartet of races after months of solid training, a familiar injury cropped up, forcing me to scrap all but one start. All injuries are frustrating. This one, however, was particularly so. It occurred to me while I was on the shelf that the energy I've been expending lately to stay near the top of my game is no longer worth the rewards. I have lost the will to take on the mountain.

It's not as if the competitiveness will ever completely disappear. I'll run for as long as I'm able, and I'll surely pin on the occasional bib number. But the drive, for the most part, has been sated, and I know that from here on out my running will never be the same.

But it's OK. Steve Scott, Grete Waitz, Alberto Salazar ... all of the running idols from my past have had to cross the same threshold. The great Bill Rodgers still races, but he, too, has softened his focus. I read recently that Suzy Favor Hamilton, always one of my favorites, is now content to run leisurely just a few times a week. And I very much admire that about this sport -- that it embraces all comers, not just those who pursue it full bore.

My true consolation is the knowledge that the mountain will endure, even long after the last of my shoeprints has faded from the trail. And I truly hope that the next voracious runner who discovers it gains as much satisfaction as I have over the years.